Ten and Taken
by sg2009
Summary: Sam protects his de-aged, obnoxious, traumatized brother. Complete with epilogue.
1. Chapter 1: Day 1

His brother was a ten year old. It had been true figuratively since Dean was, well, ten. Maybe even a few years before that. Sam seemed to remember Dean being a mature seven, eight, and nine year old. But his brother's social development seemed to flatten at the age of ten. And now his body matched his psyche. Well, wasn't this just fanfuckingtastic.

"I'm still older than you, dumbass." Dean's big green eyes glared up at Sam from somewhere near the ground. He had jerry rigged some old sweat pants and a worn shirt into clothing that stayed on, but looked gigantic on him. God, had his brother really been this small. Sam put his hands over his eyes inwardly screaming.

"Sam. Sam. Sam. Sammy..." Sam glanced down. Dean hopped back and forth on his feet, waving his little hands up towards Sam's face for attention. He stopped as Sam caught his eye, forcing a smile about as cocky as a ten year old could manage. "Sam, you still have to do what I say." Sam put his hands back over his eyes.

Three hours. Normal Dean had been kid Dean for three hours. Two hours and twenty minutes since Bobby had called Sam back and agreed that the effects of the cursed spring were temporary and would wear off in a week. There was nothing to do but wait it out. That left what -165 hours until his brother returned to normal. Sam felt Dean tugging at the side of his shirt. Maybe he should call Bobby again. He swatted Dean away and reached for his cell.

"Bobby?"

"Sam?" The old hunter sounded cautious. "Everything still alright with you boys? Dean still ok. Cause the body thing; it should wear off in a week." His tone was weary like he was waiting for the bad news that one of them had dropped dead again. Dean danced around, pulling at Sam's shirt with pure annoyance across his smooth face.

"Sam, gimme the phone." He said in his small, authoritative voice. Sam smirked down at him, holding the phone out of reach. Dean humphed and slunk into the corner of the motel room.

"We're ok, Bobby. It's just..." Sam paused. How could he explain this and get Bobby to come help him baby-sit. "It's just I think it's more than just the body. I mean he remembers everything, angels and seals and Lilith and all, but...like he's acting like a ten year old. I think he's really ten."

"Dude," Dean yelled from the corner, "I'm thirty." Sam waved at him to shut up. There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

"You sure?" Bobby said.

"Yeah." The differences in normal Dean and kid Dean were subtle and even as a kid Dean was good at hiding things, but Sam knew his brother. He wasn't acting ten, he was ten. "Maybe I could drop him off with you for a few days." There was a pause.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby had seen some shit curses in their days. This one, it was annoying, but like a buzzing gnat compared to the 'two day flesh eating curse' or 'the die from bleeding out your orifices' curse. Sam heard a snort at the other end of the line. Bobby must have been thinking similar thoughts. With Dean smart-assing in the background in a high-pitched obnoxious voice, the older hunter fell into chuckles over the phone. Then Bobby all out guffawed at Sam, told him to have fun with the mini-idjit, and hung up.

"Sam…SAM."

"What. Dean." Sam was trying for calm. And understanding. And patience. He would not strangle his little big brother.

"Dude. Give me back my gun." Dean looked at him, holding out his hand like he expected his weapon. Sam strode over, grabbed him by the scruff of the over-sized shirt he was swimming in, and dragged him towards the door.

"No. We're going to Walmart to get you some clothes." Dean squirmed.

"What? Just go to the Salvation Army. There's one two blocks back."

"Dean, we're going to Walmart. It's cheap enough." Sam opened the passenger's side door ushering his brother inside. Dean was going to be ten for one week. He was annoying and obnoxious and he could live with having new clothes for that week. God knew everything else his brother owned had once been someone elses.

"Walmart's a dangerous place. I thought you read the papers. Bad things happen at the Walmart." Dean looked at Sam and shrugged.

"Walmart." Sam said in a tone that mimicked their Dad's old military way. He fought a grin when a 'yes sir' expression fluttered across his brother's face and he shut up.

Two hours later, 163 hours until Dean came of age, Sam sped out of the Walmart parking lot chasing the gray, demon carrying, minivan that had swiped his brother as they left the store.

Damn, Sam hated Walmart. He pushed down on the pedal, accelerating. He was going to salt and burn every store between Nebraska and the Atlantic. First, though, he was getting his brother back. And if he saw so much as a bruise on his brother, those bastards would be lucky if all Sam did was send them back to hell.

Demons were tricky and manipulative. Evil. The demons that nabbed Dean, though. Stupid. Stupid because they didn't seem to notice he was following them. Stupid because from where he was parked a block down, he saw them manhandle his brother into a rickety old row house. They really shouldn't be touching his brother. And even if this was some type of trap, they were stupid because Sam was going to take them out.

He waited less than a minute after they disappeared inside to get moving. His gut told him the demons didn't realize he had trailed them – which probably meant they were the demon equivalent of greenhorns. Sam was unsure whether it was Winchester luck or some secondary effect of the curse that lead demons to his de-aged brother, but he didn't care. It was those monsters last mistake. Grabbing his gear, he rushed down the street, moving lightly to the house and around the outside. If he did have the element of surprise as he suspected, he intended to use it.

Peaking through the back window, he saw them push Dean towards a door that lead to a basement. His brother's eyes were big and, dammit, it looked like he was crying. Sam didn't really remember Dean crying much when he was ten. But he never remembered him getting kidnapped by hell spawn from a discount chain store either. So really, this was new territory. The demons, occupying three huge men and one petite redhead, followed his brother, whooping and taunting and shutting the door behind them.

Sam made quick work of the back door lock. He slinked inside. The door leading down was unlocked and he silently turned the knob and peaked inside. The brother-nappers had their backs to the stairs and were shoving Dean into the corner of the cellar. Sam opened the door and slid inside closing it behind him. He padded into the stairwell eyes locked towards the others. The room was well insulated. Not much sound would pass from here outside. The largest man shoved Dean into the corner of a room causing him to hit hard and yelp in pain.

"Dean Winchester," it leered, "they've been missing you down below. On the rack or off, you're pure entertainment in hell." Dean paled, but glared at the creature.

"My brother, he's so gonna kick your ass." Dean bit out. The corners of Sam's mouth twitched up. Yeah, Dean had that right.

"Ah sweetie," the redhead said cupping his brothers chin with her hand, "Sammy was better off without you. You know all he does is put up with you out of some sort of misplaced loyalty. He doesn't even like you." She pulled her hand away, but then snapped it back, backhanding Dean and knocking him to the floor. Sam stiffened, but continued moving, almost to the bottom on the stairs.

"Besides," the big one said, "All those years, the carvings and the floggings, you know you deserved it, right? More so now, after all those things you did." Dean's eyes went wide as he slid back against the wall. Sam pulled out Ruby's knife and stepped towards the group.

Sam inched forward shutting out the taunting the foursome continued hurling at his brother. He needed to check his emotions and concentrate his attention towards the targets. Dad had always said that in a group fight take the most threatening individual out first. Judging that with demons was difficult, but Sam zeroed in on the biggest guy, a good bet, and moved into striking distance.

Just as he raised the blade, his eyes glimpsed his brother. Dean was shaking and sobbing. His kid limbs were tangled in a heap and he was huddled in the corner looking like a broken marionette while the second biggest demon sneered at him, fist raised.

Sam's control snapped. He had been in a bad mood before Dean was turned into a kid. As the events of the day unfolded, he'd moved from pissed, to angry, to the hot fury that now beat through him. This must be what wrath felt like.

"Hey." And he was tired of this damn sneaking around. They turned towards him. Glaring, he tossed the knife aside. Sam had better weapons. "I'm going to kick your sorry asses."

He raised his hand towards the bastards, feeling rage seethe through his veins. He let his power lose, unchecked, and the world went red.

Timeless moments later, he found himself coming back to rational thought with his back on the cold floor of the cellar. The memory of the fight blurred into a mosaic of death, screams, and elation. It turned his stomach. He couldn't afford to keep losing himself in the high of it. Sam shifted his eyes around. Four dead, dead not exorcised, demon shells surrounded him. Ruby's knife lay flung and unused to the side, and his brother sat trembling beside him. Shit. Of course, Dean had seen it all.

"Sammy…" Dean reached a shaky hand towards him. His eye was puffy and his jaw had begun to purple.

"Dean." Sam sat up, snapping to attention. "You alright?"

Dean didn't answer just sat shaking and staring at him. Sam reached over, performing a cursory health check on the small form. His brother was banged up, but otherwise unharmed. Relief washed over him.

"You're alright." Sam said, patting him on the shoulder. He got up and grabbed the knife. "Come on Dean, we gotta go."

Sam patted him again, waiting for the snide y_ou should have given me my gun, Sam_ or _see, Sam, Walmart, modern day lion's den_, but Dean remained silent.

"Dean. We need to go. We don't want to be here when anyone else, human or other shows up."

Dean didn't get up, but he turned his eyes towards Sam and began trembling so hard it looked like convulsions. Worry inched into Sam's stomach that seeing his powers manifest might have only compounded his brother's fears.

"Shit." Sam murmured. He bent down and picked his brother up cradling to his chest. "You're safe now, Dean. I'm gonna take care of you, but we gotta go." He still half expected a smartass remark at his statements, thought Dean might complain about being too old for this type of treatment when he actually was ten, but Dean just put his arms around Sam's neck and buried his face into his shoulder.

Sam managed to get them back to the motel, packed, and transported 250 miles to a new one. No one gawked at him for too much, and thank you for small favors, as he carried around his banged up ten year old brother like he was a preschooler. Once checked in, he sat down on the bed resting against the headboard and settled his brother next to him.

"Dean, you should get some rest." Dean shuffled closer to him and shook his head no. Sam tried again. "You need to sleep. I'll keep watch, okay?"

"N' tired, Sammy." Jeez, he sounded exhausted.

"Come on. Just take a nap." Dean shook his head no again, this time with increased vigor. Sam still felt guilty, but frustration was also beginning to surface. "Okay…why don't you want to sleep?"

Dean leaned back, shooting Sam an 'it's obvious' look.

"Because, not sleepy." He snuggled back to Sam's side. Dammit, Dean was mostly okay, but he needed to rest to get back to good. Sam hated to do it, but it was for his brother's own health.

"Dean." Sam put on his best drill sergeant voice. "Why won't you go to sleep? Tell me, and that's an order."

Dean moved to look at him again. It was hard for him to refuse a direct order from an older family member, especially in his current state. Sam could see emotions play over his face. Fear. Anger. Defiance. Then he saw annoyance spill across which meant he was going to talk.

"Just bad dreams…bout hell and stuff."

Huh. Sam probably should have figured that out by himself. He took a steadying breath.

"Look, you're not there anymore. You'll never be there again. Rest now and if you start to have a nightmare, I'll wake you up, ok?" Dean shrugged and turned away from Sam's gaze. He mumbled something into Sam's shoulder.

"What?" Sam pulled Dean up.

"Until I die again, then I'll go back, right?" Dean looked away again, shame reddening his cheeks. "That's what all the demons say."

"Dean, demons lie."

"Unless the truth is worse." He said in a quiet tone, stifling something between a yawn and a sob. "And, anyway, not sleepy."

Well, shit. What was Sam supposed to say to that? Don't worry, you really are safe. He wasn't sure anyone was safe at this point. Nothing bad will happen. Their entire life kinda disproved that one. But, he had to respond.

"Dude, you're not going downstairs again, think man, you got angels watching your back." Sam winced. Maybe that wasn't the best response. Dean's relationship with angels wasn't much better than his. Dean shrugged.

"Well, I like Cas." He said in a small voice.

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "He's alright. And I'm not letting anyone take you again either." He felt Dean relax beside him. Sam checked his watch. Ten hours since normal Dean got shrunk. The next 158 hours of little big brother were going to be a helluva lot better than the first ones – he'd make sure of it. But first…

"Hey, Dean." Sam felt his throat constrict. "I'm sorry…you know about the psychic thing. But I had to protect you. So I'm not really sorry, but…um…I'm sorry if I scared you today." Sam sighed, feeling frustrated tears well up in his eyes. Dammit, when did he lose his ability to articulate? Dean shot him an odd look.

"Sammy, I could never be scared of an emo bitch like you." Dean snuggled down into the bed. "Shut up already, 'm sleepy." Sam brushed his hand through his brother's hair. He'd keep his brother safe and close as long as he could.


	2. Chapter 2: Day 2

"Dean, you can't go off by yourself. Not with what happened." Sam grabbed him by the elbow and began dragging his resistant little form back towards the hotel room.

"Dude, I just wanted to check out the old arcade games. Besides, you were with me yesterday when I got nabbed." Dean wriggled in his grasp, screwing up his face in annoyance. "I'm probably safer without your gigantic self drawing attention to me."

"No. Dean, you're really not." Sam tried not to raise his voice, but kid Dean was back to being a pain in hisass. "I woke up and you were gone. I thought…I thought something had gotten you again." Sam wanted to shake his brother. The night before, Dean wouldn't slide an inch away from him, and this morning he sneaks off to play video games while Sam's sleeping. What the hell was wrong with him anyway?

He stopped in front of the motel door, inhaling deeply and letting his irritation slip away. Dean blinked up at him. His right eye was puffy. The side of his face was smudged in yellows and purples. It hit Sam suddenly that dragging his kid brother into a shady motel room like this looked damn suspicious. He loosened his grip and surveyed the lot; he counted a group of four teenagers at the corner and two men smoking towards the ice machine. One of the men winked at them. Dean, following his gaze, shifted closer to him. And then the little shit pinched his thigh. Hard.

"Ow. What, Dean?" His brother's colorful young face smirked up at him.

"Sam, we just gonna stand here?"

"No." He pushed his brother inside. "Pack up. And you better bring all your new little clothes. We're leaving." He threw the duffle towards Dean's feet.

"What. Why? We just got here. You said you paid through the week." Dean scowled at the duffle and sank down next it. "Are you dumping me at Bobby's?" Sam blinked at him, confused.

"No. I'm not dumping you anywhere." Dean looked unconvinced. "It's just…um…look, this place isn't kid friendly. That's all." Sam motioned at his brother to hurry up."

"That's it?" He asked. Sam nodded. Dean started laughing and Sam would have sworn he sounded somehow relieved. "I'm not really ten, Sammy. We stay at these places all the time." He pushed at the duffle with his foot.

"You're close enough." Dean remained on the floor. Sam sighed. "I'd feel better somewhere else, okay." His brother groaned, but got up.

"Fine, if it will make you feel better..." Then, a hopeful expression flirted over his face. "But if you want to move anyway, maybe we should stay somewhere with a pool."

"A pool? You want to go swimming or something?" Dean gazed at him as if he was stupid.

"Sammy, pools are awesome. We could go swimming – it's warm enough. And there are always chicks around pools. Undressed chicks. Oh. And, maybe, we could find a place with a waterslide. That'd be freakin' great." Sam stared at him for a minute.

"Okay…" If a pool would make Dean happy, Sam could find him a damn pool. "I'll find us a place with a pool so you can go swimming if you hurry up and pack. And if you pack all your kid stuff like I told you - I'll do my best to find a place with a slide too."

"We, Sam, we could go swimming." Dean threw wadded up clothes in the bag, grinning. "But we should eat first." Sam's stomach grumbled in agreement.

The waitress had to be over fifty years old and she was gorgeous. Her nametag read _Sophia_, and Sam couldn't help but think of Sophia Loren. Dean had tugged at Sam's shirt and conspicuously pointed her out the moment they walked in the diner. Now, his brother wore a ridiculous lopsided grin as she sauntered over to their booth with dismay painted on her pretty, aged features.

"Sweetie, what happened to you?" She reached and turned Dean's chin towards her, like the red-haired demon had before she had backhanded him, only gentler. He flinched at the contact and his face fell. Sam fought the urge to wrench her hand away from him. Her soft eyes, ripe with suspicion, caught Sam's, and then returned to his brother. "Did someone hit you?"

"Yeah…" Dean said quietly, wiggling out of her reach and rubbing his chin. "But Sammy here saved me." Then his face lit back up and he beamed at her. "He kicked ass. As brother's go, he's pretty much the best." She regarded Sam for a moment and then smiled.

"Oh, is that so?" She said handing them menus.

"Oh yeah. Not only that. He's taking me to the pool today. Dad hardly ever did that. Well, not for fun anyway. Mainly training. But, we're gonna have a great time, right, Sammy?" Dean waited for him to agree.

"Uh…Right?" Sam said. Dean grinned wider. Sophia gazed at him with a mix of amusement and sadness as he then proceeded to order half the sweet and greasy things off the menu to eat. Sam contemplated his brother as he asked for extra syrup, extra bacon, and extra whip cream. His hair was sticking up at odd angles. Dirt was smeared across his new shirt and his eyes were huge and sad. Damn, he was an adorable kid even with the bruising. The need to protect him swept over him again. The waitress cleared her throat.

"That alright with you?" She asked pointing her pen at the list of food Dean wanted.

"Oh." Sam turned his attention towards her. "Yeah, whatever. Make it two of everything. Only no extra anythings for me."

"You sure about that, now?" She asked, nodding toward his brother.

"Yeah?" Sam said. She laughed at him and went to put in the order.

He and Dean exchanged confused looks and watched her walk away. Then Dean turned to him with the most serious of expressions.

"Sam, she's really hot for an old chick. We need to come back here when I'm big."

Sam grinned.

The motel, suggested by Sophia, was unassuming and filled with families. Sam tallied it in his head. This was the third motel he'd checked into in twenty-four hours and that was a record for him. At this pace, they'd hit twenty some hotels before Dean returned to normal. Sam, was nothing if not optimistic. He paid for the week. There would be no need to change motels again. The room was clean and plain. Pale blue spreads, warm tan paint. It was nice, calm.

"This place is boring, Sam." Dean wrinkled his nose at the wall-paperless room.

"But it does have a pool."

Dean didn't say anything but tore through his bag until he found a t-shirt and something that resembled swim trunks. He disappeared into the bathroom and came out ready to swim.

"Sam. Hurry up. The pool closes at five." It was one. Sam shrugged, grabbed his laptop and opened the door to the room. Dean frowned at him, but followed.

When they arrived, Sam blessed the water with a short incantation and stuck a rosary in the filter while pretending to clean it out. No demon swimming allowed. He settled at a picnic table about twenty feet from the pool where he had a good view of the area. Holy water wouldn't stop everything. It was smart to remain vigilant especially with his brother so vulnerable. He pulled out his computer. Dean couldn't hunt in his current condition and Sam couldn't leave him to do it alone, but he could research demonic activity while they were on kid leave. Make sure trouble didn't find them. Make the most of the time.

"Sam…SAM." Dean was standing on the edge of the pool. "Hey, watch this man." Sam glanced over as his brother did a painful looking belly-flop into the water. He surfaced a moment later, getting out and looking elated. Sam waved and turned back to his laptop.

"SAM." Dean ran back from the pool, smirking. "Watch." His brother cannon balled into the water this time, splashing a few women by the sidelines. He surfaced, snickering this time and motioning towards his victims.

"Okay…" Maybe he shouldn't have let his brother eat all that sugar after all. He turned back to his search.

"Sam…Sammy…" Dean was out of the pool again, flailing at him, and smiling. What the hell? Man, kid Dean was eating freakin' Corn flakes tomorrow. Sam stood up.

"Dude, what do you want?" Dean's smile faltered, but then returned full force.

"Watch me, Sam. This is going to be awesome." His brother did some odd looking acrobatics into the pool. He surfaced, jumped out and ran over to him. "Pretty cool, huh?" Sam sighed.

"Dean, I'm trying to work, man." Sam motioned towards the water. "Just go play in the water and let me be. I'll make sure your safe." And Sam may have said the exact wrong thing because Dean's smile fell right off his face and he gazed down at the grass. For a brief moment, Sam thought he was going to start to cry. When he looked up, his eyes were dry. He had a strange expression though. "Dean?"

"Nah, I think I'm done. Tired of swimming, Sammy. No slide anyway." Dean grabbed his towel. "Let's go back." He turned and marched towards the room. Sam cursed himself and followed after his brother.

"Hey. Wait up." Sam fell into step beside him. Shit. It seemed there was more to taking care of his brother than keeping him safe. "You wanna play cards when we get back? I was thinking poker. It's been a long time since I cleaned you out." Sam shoved him playfully. Dean paused a moment, before going for the bait.

"A long time? More like never." He shoved back at him, and Sam let himself fall over. Dean blinked down at him, amused. "I'd trip over those clown feet, too, Sammy. It's amazing you stay up as much as you do."

"Well, maybe you'll grow up to be as tall as me one day and we'll see how you do. Oh wait. No. I don't think that happens." Sam jumped up and patted him on the head. "Come on, shorty. You have money to loose." Dean smiled, but he looked sad.

"Sam, you don't have to play with me. I'm not really a kid. Remember." He shrugged looking up at Sam.

"Dean, I don't have to it. I want to. I'm broke." Sam pushed him towards to room. "And I'm gonna beat your ass at cards." Dean seemed unconvinced, but he grabbed his cards as soon as they got to the room. Then he paused and considered Sam again.

"Sam, you don't have to hang out with me." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's alright, I'm alright."

Bullshit. Dean wasn't alright. Hell, Sam wasn't alright. But right now, Sam was an adult and his brother was a kid who needed him to look after and protect him. He threw a pillow at Dean's head.

"Shut up and deal, jerk." Sam grinned at him. "You're going down."


	3. Chapter 3: Day 3

Sam awoke to the sound of scratching. He blinked in the half-light of the early morning, scanning the room. The cards were still spread on the corner table and his brother was sitting awake on the other bed, eyes fixed towards the noise.

"Something's at the door, Sam." Dean sounded alert, but the dark circles below his eyes were apparent even with the low light.

"Yeah." Sam grabbed his gun. "Just stay there." He moved to the door; saw nothing out the peephole. The scratching became vigorous.

"What is it?" Dean had moved and now stood inches from him, his expression caught between fear and curiosity. Sam waved him back. He unlocked the deadbolt. Turning the knob, he raised his weapon and pulled the door open.

As light broke into the room from outside, a spaniel-sized blur rushed past him straight towards his brother. He saw Dean stumble back, undersized arms raised in a defensive posture.

"Dean!" Sam reached out and grabbed the blurry rocket with his free hand. Something sharp and hairy wriggled in his grasp. He pulled back slamming the thing against the wall. It dropped in a spiny, furry heap. Sam aimed the gun at it and he and Dean stared at the unmoving form for a moment. Finally, his brother snorted and stepped towards it, scrunching his face in disgust.

"Gross. It's like a spiked, fanged possum."

"Yeah." Sam nudged it with his foot, rolling it on its belly. "It's not natural. That's for sure." He picked it up by the naked tail, letting the body dangle. It was covered in wiry fur and thick spines. The lifeless face contained beady eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. "We should salt and burn it."

"Dude, I'm not going near that thing." Dean shook his head and moved back rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You broke it, you burn it."

"Fine, but you stay close. We'll take it out back." He pulled the bag out of the motel trashcan and maneuvered the thing into it. As he lifted, the plastic broke with the weight of the creature and the sharpness of the spines. The body landed with a heavy plop.

"Nice job there, Sammy." Dean snickered. "You zero. Dead mutant rodent one." Sam cuffed his brother on the back of the head. Dean glared up at him, faux malice playing in his expression. Sam sighed, scanning the room again. Nothing else in it looked appropriate for a freak possum body bag.

"You could use a sheet." Dean offered.

"Right, nothing suspicious about that…" Sam said, considering his brother. He was pale and still bruised, and something else was off. Sam stared at him until Dean fidgeted under the scrutiny.

"Take a picture…" he mumbled, looking back towards the thing. "I wish I had a stick. Then we could poke it."

This was giving Sam another headache. It was just too early for all this shit. He could figure everything out after breakfast.

"Maybe later." Coffee and food were necessary for dealing with supernatural rodent problems. "Leave it for now. We'll come back and take care of it after we eat." Dean glanced up at him, surprised.

"Leave it? What if it reanimates or something?" Dean scrunched his nose. "What if it starts to smell…" He stopped and sniffed, "Well, starts to smell worse?" Sam shrugged and toed the thing into the corner. He'd buy some Hefty's while they were out.

"Wouldn't be the worst smelling room we've stayed in anyway. Get dressed."

They drove to the same diner as yesterday. Sophia fussed and mothered over Dean until he looked mortified with the attention. Sam even heard him mumbling something about her not being so hot after the grandma routine. It was damn hilarious. After the third kick under the table, Sam decided to save him. He cleared his throat.

"I think we're ready to order." He gave her his sweetest smile, drawing attention away from his brother. She took out her pad. "I'll have coffee, bacon, and eggs over easy, and waffles." Dean's eyes went big.

"Oh, yeah. Me too." His brother nodded, drooling a little at the menu. Sam snickered. Yeah. Dean was going to be pissed. Sam raised his voice.

"And he'll have juice, toast, and…" It was for his brother's own good, but still, no reason not to savor an opportunity like this. "The egg white veggie omelet. No cheese."

"What? No. I don't want that." He tugged at Sophia's apron. "I want waffles. And extra whip cream. Extra syrup. And coffee…and sausage." She patted his head and turned to Sam.

"Will that be whole wheat toast, then?"

"Please."

Sophia left them to place the order. The amount of shocked and pissed off kid across the booth from Sam was friggin' priceless. He looked at Dean's pinched expression and fell into laughter.

"What the hell, Sam. You can't tell me what to eat." Sam laughed harder.

"Apparently, I can." He forced out. Sophia brought the coffee and the juice. She looked a little stunned at the kill expression Dean threw her, but smiled and ruffled his hair as she walked away. "Now drink your juice, bro. You're a growing boy." Dean settled on silent sulking for awhile after that – which, turns out, was also pretty damn amusing.

While they waited for the food Sam left a message for Bobby, describing the thing, and asking him to call back with information.

"Why bother? It's dead. Good riddance." Dean high voice still sounded pissed, but he picked up his juice.

"I want to catalogue it in the journal. Figure out what it is." Sam took a large gulp of coffee letting satisfaction shine from his face. Dean glared at his mug like it was a demon.

"Sammy. I hate you."

Bobby called back as they drove home from the town market.

"It's a wacabee, Sam." Bobby's gruff voice sounded worried. "Supposed to be a death omen." Huh. Well, not really the best news. But if it was an omen, at least it wasn't evil.

"It came right for Dean, Bobby. Is that normal?" Bobby was quiet on the other end.

Dean rolled his eyes beside him.

"I don't know, Sam. Omens aren't typically so interactive. I'll check into the kid curse again. Maybe we missed something. In the meantime, you boys be careful. And keep your damn heads down for once. I'll call you when I find something."

"Alright. Bye Bobby." Sam pulled into the motel lot. Dean shuffled out of the car and towards the room ahead of him, swiping a busted broom handle from a cleaning cart along the way.

Sam strolled into the room soon after to find his brother on the floor facing the ugly thing. Dean turned towards him and gestured to him to be quiet. His brother motioned towards the creature. Sam watched as it twitched, rolled over, and blinked its beady little eyes.

Dean inched the broom handle towards it. He nudged the thing in the side. It flipped over, went still, and its eyes turned glassy. Sam rubbed his head. It was playing dead. Part possum, part death omen – kinda made sense. He started towards it, but Dean held his little hand up and motioned him to wait. After about ten seconds, which was about the limit of Sam's patience, the thing turned over, blinked, and wiggled a bit. Dean poked it with the stick again. It flopped back to belly-up. Dean cackled.

"This thing's great, Sammy." He knocked Sam with the stick, seeming amused as hell at the ugly beast. "It already knows a trick. We should sell it to a circus or something."

"What? No. It's a rodent death portent. It's not great. It's gotta be put down." Sam sighed. This job wasn't always pleasant. "Look, I'll do it." Dean stood up, between the wacabee and Sam. He crossed his arms, in what Sam guessed was meant to be an intimidating stance. But since he was all of four feet tall with thin limbs, it lacked impact. "You're cute and all, Dean. But move it."

"Sam, it's not evil. It warns people of danger. If we don't keep it, we should let it go." Dean gawked as Sam grabbed him gently by the shoulders and set him out of the way.

"It's supernatural Dean. We kill it." Sam seized it by the scruff of the neck. The thing raised its ugly head and whimpered. It was pitiful. Dean stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"No. We kill evil things and I am all for that. But it ain't evil, so we should leave it be. Your words, Sammy." Well, shit. That did sound like something he would have said. Sam huffed, frustrated, and set the wacabee down. It rolled onto its back going still.

"Fine. Then you take care of it. Drag it out back and let it go or whatever." Sam flopped down on the bed. "But don't come crying to me if the thing starts scratching on the door again tonight."

Dean beamed at him like he'd just won a prank war. He snickered, moving over to investigate the creature. Sam watched him. He moved slow as he poked and examined it. He shifted around like an old man, not a young one. Something was definitely not right. Sam was positive he hadn't been injured.

"Dude," Sam got back up. "Come on, I'll help you with it." He grabbed the limp form and headed for the door.

"Not that way. Sammy, you pitched it into the wall. It needs to recover." Sam just blinked at him.

"Dean, what do you want to do with it then?"

Turned out Dean wanted to keep it in the bathroom until it was over the 'Sam-inflicted' trauma. He named it Fugly and decreed Sam could simply poke it with the broom handle if he needed privacy in the throne room.

Sam screamed – inwardly of course. His brother was beginning to treat the stupid thing like a puppy. He was tempted to put an end to this nonsense, but his brother looked so damn tired, he was hesitant to do anything that would upset him. And killing 'Fugly' at this point might do just that.

He kept a watchful eye on his brother for the evening. Dean would sneak over and check on the damn rodent whenever he thought Sam wasn't paying attention and he kept moving slower and slower as the night fell.

"Dean, you feeling okay?" Sam put his hand on his forehead. He didn't feel hot. Dean batted him away.

"For the tenth time, I feel fine, Sam." Right. Like that meant anything. Dean was looking worse and worse. This needed to be taken care of.

"I'm taking you to Bobby's." He grabbed their clothes and started packing. "I want him to get a look at you." Dean paled, and sank to sit on the floor with a scowl on his face.

"You said you weren't going to ditch me."

"I'm not ditching you, Dean. I'm going to be staying with you, alright? Now get your things." Dean stood, but seemed uncertain. "What?"

"Dude, what about Fugly?"

This was revenge for the egg white omelet. Sam hadn't thought of it at first, but now he was sure of it. Well, he was positive this Fugly thing was at least partly revenge. Part of it might be a deep seated desire of his brother's to have a pet, but Dean was never against doing one thing to accomplish two ends. Sometimes he forgot what a sneaky little bastard his brother was. But, whatever. Sam could play this game better than any ten year old.

"Bring him. But you have to take care of him."

And this is how Sam ended up on the road with his pint-sized older brother beside him, complaining about his driving, and a dumb-as-shit supernatural possum-dog recuperating in a stolen trashcan in the back. They'd be in South Dakota by early morning. He had left Bobby a message they were coming, but he hadn't mentioned Fugly. Dean could show Bobby his pet when they got there.


	4. Chapter 4: Day 4

"What the hell were you thinking, Sam." Bobby took off his cap and wiped his brow. "You brought that damn thing with you? You wanna explain that to me." The older man waited. Dean stood behind him – poking in the trashcan at the wacabee.

"Bobby, it's just that…"

"Just what, Sam?" Bobby shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. "That's not a pet, boy." Bobby gazed down at Dean and the possum-thing, face ripe with disbelief. Not that Bobby was giving his brother any grief about this. All the older man's irritation seemed focused on him. Great. If he would let him explain…

"Look, its supernatural, but it's not hurting anyone, so we just thought…"

"Thought? Sam, you didn't think. It's basically a super rodent. Hell, your daddy had you boys use critters like that for target practice. You're out of your damned mind." He put back on his cap and took a deep breath, looking like he was counting to ten or something.

Dean smirked at Sam from behind Bobby's grizzled figure. The little jerk was enjoying this. As Bobby glanced back at him, his brother's face fell to innocence, all wide eyes and sweet smile. Sam felt a hum of annoyance. Why was Bobby mad at him?

"It's not me, Bobby. I wanted to put it down. Dean was the one that insisted on bringing the thing. It was his idea." Sam fought against a pout. He crossed his arms and huffed. He was doing this for Dean – to make him happy or some crap like that. "I was just doing what he wanted."

"Well, Dean ain't exactly firing on all cylinders right now."

"Hey…" Dean glared up.

"And you're the adult right now, Sam. So act like it." Bobby motioned for them to come in the house. "Now get rid of that thing. I don't collect black cats that cross my path and I don't take in those things either."

Sam paused, and spoke a low tone Dean couldn't hear. "Look, he was really upset after he was kidnapped. And now he's acting odd. I don't know, worn down or something…" They turned to look down at his brother. Defiance flooded over Dean's features and he stepped in front of the trash can as if to protect it. Bobby's face softened. Sam stepped closer to him. "I thought it might make this easier on him."

"Fine." Bobby mumbled. "But it stays on the porch. If I find that thing skulking around, I'm gonna shoot it."

Once inside the house, Bobby gave Sam a beer and his brother a soda. Dean grumbled something about not driving so what the hell, but settled down at the worn table. His brother slumped in the seat, still looking beat to hell. He'd been moving around well enough when they arrived, but appeared stiff and uncomfortable as he fidgeted in his chair. Sam turned to Bobby and motioned towards Dean. The older man gave his brother the once over and relaxed back into an appraising posture.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby leveled his gaze at Dean. "You look like hell, boy."

"I'm fine." Dean shrugged.

"Fine, huh? No side effects? Headaches? Muscle soreness?" Bobby scooted closer to him.

"No." Dean slammed his soda on the table. "I'm fine. Well, except for being shrunk. And being a demon's punching bag. Oh, and there's hell. Those were all pretty craptastic." He paused to take a sip of his soda and glare pointedly at Sam's beer. "Fugly's the one that was walled by Sam. She's the one you should worry about."

Huh. Apparently, Fugly was a girl.

"I ain't worried about some damn rat, I'm worried about you." Bobby gruffed out. Dean's eyes went wide with offense. Sam sat, bemused, for the next five minutes as Dean explained with colorful gestures and language how much he hated rats, how much Fugly was not a rat – 'she's bigger', 'she has awesome spikes', 'she plays dead' – and how fine he himself was. Bobby studied his brother throughout the rant, giving him the concentration he usually reserved for one of his large books.

"How've you been sleeping?" He finally asked. Dean shrugged and scrunched his face in annoyance. Fed up with the scrutiny, he pushed back from the table.

"You two are a buzz kill. I prefer spending time with my girls." He motioned towards the car and the porch. He glared at them and stomped out. Sam watched him move outside to poke around in the trashcan before turning his attention to Bobby.

"So…what do you think?"

"I know we talked about it on the phone, but seeing it's something else. He's really a kid." Bobby chuckled and took a swig of his beer. "As for being sick, he don't look quite right to me, but it isn't the curse. I tripled checked." Sam sighed.

"Well, what then, Bobby? I mean, he had a death omen scratching at his door. That can't be good." Sam checked his watch. They were at the halfway point. Eighty-four hours until Dean was back to normal. "Something's wrong with him and I don't know what. He can't take care of himself, not now." Sam spared a worried glance out the door at his brother. Dean sat on the porch steps next to the trashcan, his elbows on his knees. He looked small. Sam resisted the urge to run outside and grab him. "I need to know what I'm dealing with. Maybe I should go back to the hotel where we picked Fugly up. See if I missed something."

"You think something got to your brother there?"

"It's where I noticed him acting sluggish. I don't know, maybe?" Sam said. Bobby shrugged, seeming unconvinced. He nodded towards the porch, worry etching into his expression.

"And what about your brother? What are you going to do with him?"

Sam contemplated that. What would he do with Dean? He could leave him with Bobby, but he didn't know how his brother would react to that. Being ten made Dean moodier than usual and Sam was having a hard time reading him. Taking him with seemed like a bad idea too. He might be put in greater danger, and if he was sick Sam didn't want to drag him on another long car ride.

"Sam, I'm not sure the thing with your brother has anything to do with the supernatural." Bobby stood and grabbed the empty bottles. Sam's eyes went wide in disbelief.

"Bobby, yesterday, a death omen showed up at the door. Two days before, Dean was kidnapped by demons – right from the Walmart parking lot. Oh, and before that, he was turned into a ten year old." Sam threw his hands up and didn't mention the rest of their lives. "And you _don't_ think it is something supernatural?"

Bobby let out an exasperated sigh. "I think you knuckleheads could run into a ghost in a salt mine, but that doesn't mean everything that happens to you is caused by the beyond." He looked away, out towards Dean, and Sam heard concern creep back into his voice. "I also know that all of hell is gunnin' for you and your brother, so running across demons ain't no surprise. And I'm stunned you don't run into death omens everyday. Hell, Sam, you've both been dead at least once."

Well, Bobby might have a point there. But still…

"What are you thinking then?"

"I don't know. Have you tried talking to him, Sam? Sitting him down, finding out what's going on in that thick head of his."

"So you don't think he's in danger?" Sam felt hopeful. Maybe he was just being paranoid; had become so accustomed to them being in mortal peril that he was reading too much into his brother's lethargy.

"He's a kid with demons on his ass, Sam, of course he's in danger. You both are. But the pale, withdrawn, moody thing that seems to kinda come and go – that strikes me as stress or something. Talk to him." Bobby walked towards his desk and motioned Sam outside. "Just watch your back. If hell has wind of this, they're apt to send something after you boys. And I'd expect a lot more trouble than those cookie cutter demons you took out earlier." Bobby turned, sparing a glance towards Dean and his pet. "We're all more vulnerable with you brother's current condition. Now find out what the hell's wrong with him."

Sam went out and sat beside his brother, stretching his long legs down the stairs. Dean was shivering – a glare painted over his face. Sam shrugged out of his hoodie, planning to drape it over his brother's slight shoulders. Only it registered as strange to him. It was warm outside. His brother had been acting tired, weary even, but he hadn't been cold. Maybe this was a new symptom of whatever illness had grabbed Dean. Sam pushed it towards him. Dean wriggled, batting Sam away as he tried to wrap the old thing around him.

"Quit it, Sam." Dean looked up at him with a hard, blank face. Sam frowned.

"You looked cold." Sam said. His brother's face morphed into surprise and he stopped shaking. "You were trembling. You didn't realize it?"

"I wasn't trembling." Dean turned away from him. Sam followed his gaze westward. The sky was clear, colored a blue reserved for dry, careless days. The air was still and warm and falling on them like a blanket. Sam felt his gut prick. It felt wrong. With an uneasy rush, he imagined storms in the distance twisting the landscape. Something was coming. The wacabee shifted in the trashcan, scuttling around enough to make noise, and Sam wondered if the creature felt what he did. He wondered if Dean did.

"Okay. You weren't trembling." Sam scooted closer to him, letting his arm fall around his brother. "You look like shit, Dean." Dean huffed, but he didn't move away. "You need to tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Sam." He sat still for a moment, and then nodded towards the trashcan. "What do you think Fugly eats? She's restless. I think she's hungry. Sausage maybe?"

"I guess…" Sam shook his head. His brother was trying to change the subject. Typical. "Really, man, you need to tell me what's up with you. Are you sick or hurt or something?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sick, Sam. And you know I'm not hurt. You checked me over about ten times after the demons. I'm fine." But Sam was positive that was bullshit, especially when he felt his brother start to shiver again. Dean must have also realized he had begun shaking, because he froze, looking frustrated, and seemed to will himself to stop.

"You're not fine, Dean. What is it? Are you stressed? Have the nightmares come back?" His brother blinked up at him, blank expression back on his face. Sam sighed. "You need to tell me what it is. Hell, man, are you scared or something?"

Sam meant it as 'are you scared to tell me' or maybe 'are you scared I'll make fun of you'. But Dean seemed to take it on face value. His green eyes widened like he'd been caught. Sam stared at him as his face twitched. Then it crumpled, and he put his hands over his eyes and cried. Sam sat dumbstruck for a second as his brother sobbed into his palms, curling in on himself. Well, shit.

"Dean, come on now." Sam tried to pull his brother closer, but Dean resisted and pulled away. "It's alright to be scared, if that's what's wrong." Dean sniffed and seemed to will himself to stop.

"I know. Just leave it, Sam." But that was about all the control kid Dean had, because his small face fell again and the sobs started back. Sam picked up on some embarrassment in his stance and wasn't surprised when his brother jumped up and tried to run away. Of course, Sam currently was a helluva lot bigger and faster, and caught him in three quick strides. He picked up his squirming brother. Sam set him back down on the porch. He forced Dean to look at him.

"Dean, we're talking about this. Now." Sam held him by his shoulders. "Tell me what you're scared of." Dean managed to glower at him right through the tears. His expression settled in an obstinate, watery pout, and he clenched his mouth shut. Sam snorted. It was cute, his brother trying, but he could out stubborn Dean any day. "Dude, we're not moving 'til you talk. What is it that has scared you?"

"I don't know, Sam." Dean said with self deprecation and sarcasm laced into his voice. "Demons. Hell. Monsters. The works."

"I told you, Dean, I'll protect you."

"And whose gonna protect you?" Dean spit out. "What if something happens to you."

"I'll protect us both. Anything stupid enough to come after you, me, or Bobby, deserves every painful thing I'll throw at it." And Sam could throw a hell of a lot right now. "We've been through this. You're safe now." Sam rubbed Dean's face with his sleeve and smoothed out his hair.

"Sam, it's not like a pat on the back and a reassurance is gonna make it all better. I'm not a quick fix. Don't you get it? I'm damaged goods." Dean shuffled on his feet, appearing nervous. He caught Sam's gaze and continued. "It's like the demons are whispering in my ear. Whenever I'm alone – at night when you're asleep and whenever I'm in the bathroom. Even on the porch before. It's awful." He paused, looking down. "But, they're not so loud when you're with me." Dean huffed but didn't look up. Sam had the impression he hadn't meant to say that last part aloud.

"Whispering, huh? Was it like that before? When you were your normal self?"

Dean contemplated that. "Not exactly. It was more like flashes then. It was easier to ignore, at least during the day."

"Okay." Whispering sounded suspicious to Sam. He hoped it was because of the trauma and not something worse. Sam pulled his brother into a hug. He scanned the countryside and swore a shadow moved on the calm horizon. Sam scowled. Part of him wanted a fight. Wanted something to pay for hurting his brother. Sam squeezed tighter.

"You can let me go now, Sammy." Dean's muffled voice still sounded shaky. Sam looked down at his spiky hair and laughed.

"Nope." He said. Sam didn't let his brother go until Dean relaxed enough to bitch, squirm, and pinch himself free.


	5. Chapter 5: Day 5

Sam hovered as Dean sat on the wood floor, piling surplus blankets in the back corner of the living room. His brother then stacked piles of books around them. As he finished, Dean paused, becoming pale. His movements became slow. Then he scratched his left ear and shook his head. It was the seventh time Sam had seen him do it in the last hour.

Sam had vaguely noted the behavior two days before, figuring it was a response to whatever was making his brother sick. But after their chat on the porch yesterday, he understood. It wasn't a response to an illness; it was the cause. Dean was listening – or more aptly, trying not to.

Sam spent a moment to think, catalogue his surroundings. The room was worn and cluttered, containing a desk, sofa, and piles and piles of books. Dust floated in the afternoon light that shone in the west-facing windows. It smelled like a library and felt like family. Bobby cleared his throat.

"Did you find out what they were saying?" Bobby walked up beside him. Sam didn't want to answer. He'd spent the last twenty-four hours glued to his brother, but he hadn't asked him for details. Dean was weak right now. Sam feared forcing the subject would cause another breakdown. And it was selfish, but Sam couldn't handle seeing his brother cry again. He watched as Dean trudged out to the porch.

"Sam?" Bobby asked.

"No. Didn't ask." Sam sensed the older man's disapproval. "Bobby, I've pushed him hard enough. He'll talk when he's ready." Bobby grunted.

"Some nasty's spilling sweet nothing's in his ears, Sam. Either that or the boy's lost his mind. We may not have time to wait." Dean returned, pulling the Fugly-filled trashcan behind him; it clanging every other step. He tilted it over the book wall and ushered the creature onto the blankets. The smell of wet rodent drifted through the space.

Sam blinked at Bobby.

"Your brother said the damn thing was afraid of wild dogs. That she was scared last night. That _she_ would feel safer inside." Bobby wiped his brow. The older man shrugged. "Kid needed a distraction."

"Sure, man." Sam grinned. Dean petted Fugly, flinching when his fingers caught on one of her spikes. She nosed his hand before turning upside down and going still. Huh. Maybe she was doing a trick after all. Dean grinned, pointing at her.

"Awesome." He stepped to the kitchen and filled a bowl with water. Halfway back to the creature, the bowl clattered out of his hands. Water spilled out over the floor darkening the wood and wetting some of the stacked books. The wacabee scuttled around in her make shift pen. Dean stood, motionless, and cocked his head sideways. His face became ashen. Sam waited, but his brother didn't move.

Sam felt his pulse quicken. "What?" He jumped forward, slipping on the wet floor. The lack of a smartass comment from his brother increased his concern. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "What's wrong?" Sam felt a slight trembling decrease under his palm. Establishing contact seemed to comfort him. Dean shook his head, his gaze following the spreading puddle.

"It's getting louder." He said, swaying on his small feet. Sam squeezed. Dean steadied and shrugged him off.

"The whispering?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Sam. What else?" His brother crossed his arms. Sam and Bobby exchanged glances.

"Listen, son," Bobby stepped deftly around the puddle, giving Sam a pointed look. "You need to tell us what it sounds like."

Dean twisted towards him, seeming uncertain and ashamed. "Bobby, it's hard to explain."

"Well, you need to try, boy. We didn't find anything useful last night. And Sam and I went through half the books in here. The three of us can figure this out, but we need to know what you're hearing." Bobby paused, his voice taking on a serious undertone. "You gotta help us with this one."

Dean nodded. He stood up straight, all four feet or so of him, and his stance and face became determined. He reminded Sam of a little soldier coming to attention. Sam wondered if he planned on saluting.

"Sometimes it sounds like threats. You know, gonna rip you apart. Drag you back to hell. Well, worse things than that, but you get the idea." He paused, his brow knitting in concentration. "Other times it sounds like commands. It's all kinda mumbled though."

"Mumbled?"

"Yeah. Hard to understand. Especially over all the damn barking." Dean waved his arm towards the outside. "I wish those dogs would shut up already. They're making Fugly nervous."

Sam shot Bobby a concerned look. The older man nodded a subtle 'no'. Dammit. Bobby hadn't heard it either. Sam took in a deep breath.

"Dean…what dogs?" Sam said. Dean blinked at him like he was…well like he was deaf or something.

"Reading all those books affect your brain, Sammy. The dogs that have been barking their asses off since we got into South Dakota. Come on, Sam." Dean sounded confidant, but he snuggled closer to Sam.

"Dean," Sam made his voice soft, the tone he used to get information out of troubled victims. "Bobby and I, we haven't heard any barking."

"Oh." Dean's eyes went wide. "That's not good, huh?" He paled, glancing towards the door. Sam frowned, worried. He cast his attention towards Bobby. The older hunter scratched his beard, eyes deep in thought. Then his expression lit up. And then it grew dark with concern.

"I know what this is." Bobby patted his brother on the head. "And I got an idea. Just watch your brother, Sam. And give me a few hours."

Sam spent the next few hours distracting his brother from whispering or barking or whatever the hell he was hearing. They played cards. Sam won. Winchester's didn't go easy on each other because of age. Next, they tried unsuccessfully to teach the wacabee to sit. Well, that was mainly Dean. The damn thing went into 'dead' mode whenever Sam got too close. Towards dinner time, they ate sandwiches on the couch until they both became drowsy and full.

Bobby appeared more productive. He spent the time tinkering in his back room with metal work, taking the occasional break to stick his nose in some old tome or tell Dean and him to shut the hell up. By the time he reappeared carrying two shiny metal necklaces and a small, worn book, the sun sat low on the horizon, and Dean was asleep, drooling against Sam's shoulder on the couch.

"Here, Sam." Bobby spoke in a hushed tone. He threw him a small metal medallion. Sam grabbed it, careful to not jostle his sleeping brother. "Three types of spell work on that. Suppose to make visible that which can't be seen."

"Huh." Sam rubbed the metal with his fingers. It felt warm. "You think it will work? But…um….he's hearing things, not seeing them. And so…"

"Don't be so damn literal, Sam. It'll work." Bobby slid down on the other side of the couch, sparing an amused look at the spit collecting on Sam's arm.

"Okay." Sam took in Bobby's haggard appearance. He was worried. More than usual. "So what are we dealing with?"

"A huntsman." Bobby said it like it should mean something.

"What?" Sam ran through a quick mental list of hunters and huntsmen in mythology and lore, but no connection between those and the current situation jumped out. "You mean like us or something?"

"Not one of us, dimwit. A huntsman. They're like demonic bounty hunters. Texts say they track damned souls by tuning into their minds and then they drag them back to hell. Not only that, they can summon low level demons to aid in finding their prey. Nasty sonuvabitches."

"Okay." Sam said. That explained the demons they'd run into, but Dean wasn't damned. Not anymore. And he was never that bad. "Bobby, Dean's not evil."

Bobby's eyes went soft and he nodded. "I know Sam, but he did escape from hell. That's all that matters to this thing." Bobby tapped on the text he was holding. "These demons, they latch onto their souls through fear, worming their way into the psyche. Gives them power over the prey."

"The whispering?"

"That's my guess. Without the connection, it has no power. Hell, the bastard probably would have come after him sooner, but his normal self must have been able to drown it out."

"Okay." Sam felt an uneasy twinge at the amount of repressing his adult brother must have used for that trick. It had to be unhealthy, even if it had kept some hell spawn from tagging him. Sam blinked. "What the hell's up with the barking?"

"It's a huntsman, Sam. It uses a type of demonic bloodhound to take down its victims."

"Huh." Sam pulled is brother closer. That sounded far too similar to a hellhound for Sam's liking. "So how do I kill it?"

Bobby sighed. "That knife of yours should work. And salt and holy water might slow it and the dogs down…but there's a catch." Bobby said. Sam snorted. He expected no less. "They can only hurt and kill that which can see and hear them, what they've connected to…and vice versa."

"Hence the amulets. So I just wear this and I can take out this thing?"

"Mostly." Bobby hesitated. "But we'll need to be within a close distance of the intended prey, basically your brother, or the magic won't work."

Sam frowned. He assumed they'd lock Dean and his stupid pet in the evil-proofed panic room during the fight. An idea flittered over him.

"Bobby, why can't we just break the connection. Then Dean is safe. We can take our time and find a way to wipe this thing out." Sam nodded toward his sleeping brother. "While he is out of harm's way."

"I'm sorry, Sam." Bobby sounded contrite but certain. "Once these things latch on, they don't let go. Wouldn't matter at this point what age your brother was or how he was feeling. And from what he said about barking and the voices getting louder, trouble's gonna be here in soon." Bobby sighed. "We can't lock him up or run away with him, the voices alone will drive him batty. Our best shot is to deal with this here and now."

"Okay." Sam didn't like it, but he trusted the older man. "We need a plan. First things first. Let's find out what it sounds like." He pulled the amulet over his head.

Sam gasped, falling off the couch onto the floor. He sensed his brother waking up, but the noises were overwhelming. The barking was loud, and it sounded like the dogs were close. Just down the street. And the voices were horrific. Whispering and menacing. But it wasn't their cadence; it was what they were saying, describing torture after torture inflicted on Dean while in hell. Promising to pull him back there. Sam felt tears trail down his face. He felt sick.

"Sam. Sammy…" His brother's worried voice registered. "What's wrong? Are you alright."

Sam pulled it back, forcing himself to calm down. He looked at Dean's worried face, not sure whether to stoke it or strike it. His brother had downplayed the content of what he was hearing. Hell, he'd downplayed what he'd been through downstairs. Sam wasn't sure why he expected anything different. And he didn't know if he was horrified or happy that these damned whispers were opening his eyes to everything his brother had been through. All he knew now was he wanted something to suffer for it.


	6. Chapter 6: Day 6

It was late, dark, and balmy. Bobby sat hunched over a thick book in the corner of the living room, far enough from Dean that he got a break from the noise. His brother's little pet squeaked around in its make shift pen, seeming more and more uneasy as the day passed. Dean was cross-legged in the middle of the floor, an amused smirk playing on his worried features. He watched Sam stalk around room.

"Stay." Sam motioned down to his brother. Four feet. Sam had to be within four feet of his brother to hear the voices. If he moved as much as an inch over that, they turned off like someone unplugging the radio. He measured the distance again, jumping back and forth over the imaginary line. Voices. Silence. Voices. Silence. Yep. Four feet.

"Dude, you look like you're doing some half-assed hokey pokey." Dean seemed determined to throw out snark after snark. His voice sounded shaky. "I think you've finally lost it, Sammy."

Sam sprawled down beside him. The barking sounded closer. The voices were louder, harsher. "Bobby and I will need to be close to you to be able to take this thing out. So when it starts, stay close, and stay behind me." Sam put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "I won't let this thing take you."

"Yeah, right." Dean smirked at him. "That's what you said before hell."

Sam felt the determination fall off his face. Dean's young face followed and his brother clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head.

"Sammy, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." This time it would be different. Sam was different. And willing to do whatever it took. Sam turned to Bobby, who looked old and sad as he watched them. "How long you think we got?"

Bobby broke the gaze, clearing his throat. "I'd say at least eight hours. Likes to wear down it's victims before moving in for the kill. But it could show up anytime after that."

Sam nodded. "And we're ready?"

"Ready as we're gonna be. Just got to sit back and wait for it to raise its demonic head. You boys should go get some rest. I'll keep watch."

"I'm not really tired…" Dean said, stretching.

Sam motioned at him to shut it. "Bobby, you sure we have the time."

"Would I have said so, if I wasn't?" The older man griped. No, Sam guessed he wouldn't have. His brother thumped his leg.

"Sam…" Dean's voice took on a childish whine. "I don't want to go to bed…"

Sam ignored him. "Yell for me if you need anything."

"Sure thing." Bobby set his gaze at Dean. "Look after him, Sam."

"Yeah, I will." Sam was not planning on sleeping, but it would be good for his brother. The nap on the couch hadn't revived him much. Dean had dark circles under his eyes. "We'll camp out in the panic room and try to get a few hours shuteye…" Sam had no intention in being more than four feet from him until this huntsman problem was taken out. He stood up. Dean huffed, shaking his head no. His little body looked rigid and glued to the floor. "Come on, kiddo." Sam bent down and grabbed him around the waist, tossing him over his shoulder.

"What the hell, Sam? Put me the fuck down." Dean sounded pissed. He kept whining as Sam strode downstairs. "When I am back to my normal self, you better run. You better run as far as your giant legs will take you and then keep running." Dean let out a string of curses. "Put. Me. Down." He pounded his fists against Sam's back, butted him with his hard head, and kicked him, sharply, in the ribs.

"Ooomph." Sam whapped him on the ass. "Dean. Be. Still." The little body over his shoulder relaxed. Predictable. Playing dead just like that possum thing. "Don't try it, Dean. Just relax."

His brother growled; started pounding Sam again. He thought about putting him down, but visions of chasing his brother around the house cut that idea out. Sam was now aware of what his brother was going through. He felt tears fill his eyes – what his brother had gone through. Dean needed to be close to him, even if that meant Sam had to deal with a temper tantrum. He set him down once in the room, keeping hold of his shirt. He let Dean wriggle and punch until he stopped and huffed.

"You done?" Sam crouched down to look at him. Dean glared, swiping at Sam's hand.

"Whatever. You really expect us to sleep? Really, Sam. You do hear it, right?"

There was something off in Dean's voice. And Sam couldn't place his expression, but it and his tone were familiar.

"You slept this afternoon…"

"Yeah, Sam. When I was like halfway on your lap." Dean bit his lip and cast his gaze up. "You know…um…so I am not tired now."

"Huh. Right…" Now that Sam thought about it, Dean had been up each morning when he'd awakened. Had his brother only slept when snuggled beside him? Well, that would be great blackmail material if it weren't so damn pitiful.

"Yeah, so…" Dean mumbled. "We should be with Bobby. Double checking everything. You do hear them. Right, Sam?"

"Dean, I hit the floor when I heard them. I understand." Sam tried to sound reassuring. "Anything coming for you, is going through me first."

His brother seemed unsure, but nodded, still with that expression. Oh yeah, now he remembered. Dean was looking at him the way he used to look at their Dad. His big green eyes caught between adulation, categorical trust, and fear of being let down.

"I'm not gonna let you down."

Dean rolled his eyes, looking uncomfortable. "You never do, Sammy." He said softly. "Now lemme go, bitch."

Sam pulled Dean along as he laid out two sleeping bags beside the wall. He grabbed his journal and a pen and settled his brother and himself on the floor. Dean squirmed. Sam put his arm around him, pulling him close.

"Sam…" Dean's muffled voice sounded annoyed. "Come on, man. Enough."

Sam snorted. "Go to sleep. Look, I'll wake you long before the action begins."

Dean pinched and bitched for twenty minutes. Then he fell into sleep, mouth agape, and Sam resigned himself to having another shoulder wet with drool. He took out the journal and began cataloging the content of the whispers, taking in as much information as possible. Sam wasn't sure what to do with it, but thought it might help him help his brother. Maybe he would confront Dean about what had heard when he was back to his normal self. Make him open up and talk to Sam about this stuff.

After about four hours, the whispering and barking were so loud Sam had to resist the urge to muffle his ears with his hands. After five, Dean was awake and Sam gave up any hope of rest for either of them. They went upstairs to wait with Bobby in the living room. The racket got louder and louder. And louder. They didn't talk. Dawn broke. The whispers drowned out the noise of the morning. Then the wacabee screeched and the noise stopped. All was silent. Dean looked at Sam and Sam looked at Bobby. Sam moved in front of his brother. Low growling carried from the other side of the door. Tap. Tap. Tap. Three knocks at the door. Bobby raised his shotgun at the entry.

"Dean." Sam whispered. "Remember, within four feet of me or Bobby at all times. You got it. No matter what happens. You stay within that radius."

"Yeah, I got it after the first ten times, Sam." Dean's narrow chest rose as he inhaled. He grinned up at Sam. "You know, this is almost nice, it's the first peace and quiet I've had in…"

The door splintered, shattering into the house. A piece of wood flew by Sam, tearing a shallow line through his cheek before clacking against the back wall. Sam's attention focused on the large, human-like figure in the doorway and he caught three canine forms stalking into the room at his perception's edge. The figure moved inside.

The huntsman's face was grotesque and layered in shadow – something like an overdone Halloween mask – only horrifying as expressions pulled across the deadened skin and words spewed from the gaping face. It held a jagged blade in its left hand. Sam grimaced. He wondered if in hell all demons looked like this.

Sam raised the hand without the knife. He'd send this evil bastard back to hell and then cut up his dogs. But before he could concentrate, the monster lunged at him. He hit the floor hard. The knife clattered out of his hand. He didn't catch a breath. He heard snarling behind him. Bobby cursed and repeated shotgun blasts echoed in the space.

Sam reached out, grabbing the demon's arm as it tried to fillet him with the blade. The flesh stung under his fingers. The demon pushed down towards his throat. His arm shook with strain.

"SAM." Dean ran into his line of vision. Sam tried to will him towards Bobby, closer to safety. His brother kicked the thing in the face. Its head remained focused on Sam. Dean pulled his leg back again. Sam saw Dean's eyes go wide. He heard a growl, and his brother was pulled down. A large, shadowy dog-like figure hovered over him.

"Get away from him." Sam managed. He pushed back, putting all his strength into toppling the demon off him. The huntsman didn't budge. It dropped its head lower bringing its mouth to Sam's ear and laughed.

Sam heard Bobby scream for Dean. But he also heard fighting and gunshots from two feet away. Bobby was tangling with the other dogs. Sam felt his arm give. The blade touched his neck.

"You don't get him." Sam spat, pushing back. Nothing moved. He couldn't overcome the monster's strength. The huntsman shifted, staring eerily into his eyes. He held Sam still and focused his gaze left towards Dean. Sam turned. His brother was flat on his back, staring at the gaping mouth of the demonic hound, looking frozen in place.

Sam heard a screech, loud and piercing, from the back of the room. The huntsman didn't move, but the dog turned its muzzle towards the noise. The hound's distraction gave Dean an opportunity. Sam saw him push away from the monster and scoot back. There was a pause. The hound stared towards the noise. The huntsman pushed down on Sam, its blade nicking the delicate flesh of his neck. He heard Bobby struggling nearby. Sam felt blood begin to trickle down his skin.

Dean caught his eye. "Four feet." He whispered. Sam watched, horrified, as he got up and ran flat out towards the front door. Shit, he knew he should have put a leash on him. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Sam felt the knife push deeper. He struggled to keep it from going further. Then, it was gone. The huntsman vanished with a wicked grin plastered on his face. The dogs disappeared. Bobby cursed behind him.

Sam clamored up. Dean was halfway out the door, looking relieved as he saw Sam stand. Sam ran towards him, grabbing the knife from the floor. But before he was a fourth of the distance, he saw Dean's face twist with fear and an invisible force jerked his brother outside.


	7. Chapter 7: Day 7

Sam ran towards the door, sparing a glance back at Bobby. The older man was moving in the same direction with a slow, lopsided gait. His right leg was bitten and bleeding.

"Hurry, Sam." He yelled. "I'm right behind you. Damn idjit…"

Sam nodded, jumping through the door and off the porch. Something spiky and furry fled past him and sped to the right into the salvage yard. He didn't see Dean. He ran after the blur. Damn. Dean had been shrunk for six days now. And Sam managed to lose him to demons twice in that time. He'd consider the implications of that after he got his brother back.

Sam dodged several stacked cars and stopped. Listened. Heard nothing but the ominous sound of creaking iron.

"Dean." He yelled. "DEAN."

Then he heard it – whisper soft and pained. "Sammy…" And then louder. "SAM." Sam focused on that voice and ran around a tower of Toyotas to get to it.

Dean was backed against the rusty door of on old Chevy blazer, fists raised. His leg was bloody and the blackened eye that had started to fade looked newly bruised. His clothes were cut and torn and red, and Sam ridiculously thought that if they got out of this, he should drag him down to a clinic for a tetanus shot.

A fierce expression flirted over Dean's face. His eyes darted between three invisible foes. Dean was surrounded, but free. Sam felt pride creep over him. Ten year old Dean was loose? How the hell? A hiss caught Sam's attention and his gaze was drawn down. His brother's little pet was beside Dean, back arched and teeth bared, looking rabid, dangerous, and protective.

"Sam's coming…" Dean told the air. "You better get back. You won't get the drop on him twice, you bastard."

Sam didn't have time to form a plan. The danger was imminent. But if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him. He ran for the empty space his brother's scared eyes focused on, counting down the distance in his head.

Ten feet. Sam raised the blade. Eight feet. His brother crashed back against the blazer, grabbing his shoulder. Six feet. Dean's looked up at the air, terror written on his face. Blood dripped through his fingers. Four feet. The huntsman popped into view. He was grinning, allowing his blade to glisten red in the sunlight. Two of his hounds snarled at his flanks, the third one was missing. The demons soft, eerie voice echoed through the old cars and twisting metal. Sam didn't know if he was hearing it out loud or in his head.

"So young and succulent…Dean." It hissed, bringing its weapon down in a slow, playful movement. "A rare treat for me and my pets…"

Sam glared. He'd knife this sonuvabitch deep and fast.

"Hey." Sam said. The demon turned. Smugness pulled over its gross face. It barked a command at the hounds, eyes fixed on Sam. The dogs saddled closer to Dean.

Sam lunged towards the monster. It stilled itself, readying for a tackle. He knew he couldn't win a brute strength battle with the monster. He was a bright boy. He didn't make the same mistake twice. At the last moment, he dodged to the right.

Sam didn't see the third hound. But as he moved in to swipe at the huntsman, he felt its acrid breath on his neck. Then it was pushed away. The huntsman watched as it and the wacabee tumbled into the wreckage, all spines, teeth, and snarls. Sam used the distraction to attack. He drove the knife into the demon, adrenaline and power rushing through him into the metal.

The blade hit its heart and the huntsman dissolved - blowing away into burnt ash and sulfur. The dogs faded out of sight. And in that moment, it was over. The wacabee lay gnashed and belly-up beside the blazer. Sam stood stunned.

"She playing dead now, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice sounding weak and young, bringing Sam back to the moment. He frowned. Dean looked away, like he knew the answer.

Sam picked up his brother, putting his arms under his knees and around his shoulders, positioning his damaged arm and leg as protected as possible, and tucked his head under his chin. His brother grumbled at first, but was out cold by the time Sam ran into Bobby by the Toyotas.

"It over?" Bobby looked pale. An old shirt was tied around his bloodied leg.

"Yeah."

"He alright?" The older man motioned to the mess of bleeding kid in his arms.

Sam inhaled. "He will be. It was still playing with him when I got there. These," Sam indicated the wounds, "are more painful than critical…but Fugly didn't fare so well."

Bobby frowned. "I'll take care of her. Get him inside." He limped forward.

Sam wanted to stop him, take a look at the older man's leg. He nodded instead. Bobby was anything but foolhardy. If he said he was well enough to take care of it, he was well enough to take care of it.

Once inside, he laid his brother down on the couch. Sam gently patted Dean's cheek.

"Hey, you with me?"

Dean blinked at him, eyes looking watery and unfocused. "Yeah…" Dean glanced over at the make-shift pen in the back of the room and then back at Sam. "Fugly, she was a good…a good whatever she was."

"Yeah. Dean, I need to look at your shoulder, then leg. This is going to hurt." Sam pulled the fabric back from the skin. The cut was deeper than he'd thought. He grabbed his brother's hand and pushed against the wound. "Keep pressure on this. I'm gonna have to stitch it up."

Sam bent down to examine his brother's leg. The bite wasn't as bad and he decided he could quickly bandage it before dealing with the shoulder. He grabbed the first aid kit and handed Dean two Tylenols. "Swallow those."

"Dude," his brother huffed out, sounding out of breath. "Give me codeine. Or whiskey or something."

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. Dean, you're not big enough." He waited for Dean to swallow the pills and wrapped his leg.

"Sam."

Sam looked up. "Yeah."

"I hate you, man."

Sam smoothed his brother's short hair off his forehead. "I know." He felt warm, but not feverish. "I gotta stitch you up." Dean put his good arm over his eyes and leaned back. His cheeks were wet and pale.

Bobby trudged in the door right as Sam sterilized the needle. He glanced at them and hobbled over to sit next to Dean on the couch.

"You give him anything?" Bobby asked taking Dean's hand in his. His brother's face twitched into a confused expression. Sam nodded towards the Tylenol and cleared his throat.

"You may need to hold him down, Bobby."

Bobby put his other arm gently on Dean's chest. "Just hold on now, son. We'll be done soon."

Sam had stitched his brother up many times. Usually Dean cursed, grunted, and made wiseass remarks on Sam's sewing technique. This time he whimpered and cried until about halfway through. At which point, he went still and passed out.

"Just as well." Bobby said, placing his brother's limp hand on his lap. "Finish up before he wakes back up."

"Hey Bobby," Sam said in a low voice, "Is it good or bad luck if your death omen dies?" Bobby didn't answer, just stared at him, frowning. Whatever. It was a fair question.

Sam worked hard to finish the stitches as quick as possible. Dean was out for most of the day. He woke up briefly around dusk to glare at Sam when he changed his bandages and forced more Tylenol into his system. At about ten the next morning, he woke up lucid. And hungry. Bobby grinned when he asked for some grub and went to the kitchen to make him eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Dean seemed ecstatic.

"Real food, Sammy." He moved gingerly on the couch, flinching as he shifted his shoulder. "Awesome."

"Yeah." He helped him to a sitting position and settled down beside him. He didn't remember the last time they'd eaten. "You need more Tylenol?"

Dean snorted. "What the hell type brother are you anyway? Give me damn Tylenol when I need booze." Dean paused, gazed up at Sam. "So, how much longer, Sam?"

"What?" Sam grabbed two pills from the container.

"Until I'm back to normal. You've been checking your watch every five minutes since this stupid curse hit." Dean took the pills.

"Oh." He'd forgotten. Sam checked his watch. "Eight hours or so."

"I guess you'll be glad, huh?"

Sam shrugged. "Dude, you're a pain in the ass either way." He paused, putting support under his brother's bandaged leg. "We need to talk about all this when you're feeling better."

Dean groaned. "I don't want to talk about any of this, Sam." He shuffled around, looking uncomfortable.

"Okay." Sam said, not meaning it.

"Good." Dean fidgeted, grimacing as he moved his shoulder. He shot Sam a suspicious look. "Really, Sam."

"Okay, Dean." Sam said, still not meaning it. He rested his head back and put his arm around his brother. "I wish I could've made this week better for you. You know, without the demons and terrible wounds." Sam tried to make his voice sound light, but hearing it, thought he had failed. He sounded guilty. Hell, he felt guilty.

"Well, you took me to Walmart. That was fun." Dean smirked up at him. "Don't worry about it. Other than that, it was a good week, Sam."

"Other than going to Walmart it was good week? Cheap new clothes was your low point? How do you figure that?" Sam's brow knitted in confusion. "Dean you got kidnapped by demons on day one…"

"Yeah. And you kicked ass. That was great…" Dean smiled and looked away like he was engrossed in a fond memory.

"Okay." Sam never could let something go when he didn't understand. "Then we went to those awful motels…"

"Sammy, that was okay. We went swimming. We played cards. Picked up Fugly." Dean seemed a little sad at that. "And then we came here to hang out with Bobby."

"All while you were being tortured by demonic voices." Sam sighed. He knew he should let it go, but when had he ever been able to do that. "And Fugly was a high point?"

Dean shrugged. "She was a good girl. And Fugly died saving our asses, so I can't feel too sad about that."

"Dean, you've been beat to hell all week…and the huntsman nabbed you."

"And you kicked ass again. Like I said. Awesome. Sam, you need to get some perspective. I'm okay. You're okay. We got to hang out all week. Bobby's making us a huge breakfast. Like I said, a good week."

Sam stared at him with disbelief. His brother really believed that.

"Fine." Sam gave up. "I'm glad you think it was a great week. But if this happens again…I don't know, Dean, I'll take you to Disneyland or something."

Dean looked horrified.

"Whatever, man." Sam said. "You know you'd love it."

_The End_

_Hope you enjoyed it!_


	8. Epilogue

_**This is just sort of a schmoopy little epilogue. I figured I would post it in case anyone was interested.**_

"Look, man. Whatever I did, I didn't mean it. Now, will you slow the car down?" Sam gave his brother his sweetest, most sincere expression – the one he practiced in the mirror at night before they interviewed witnesses. He hoped Dean could see it in the moonlight streaming through the Impala's window.

Dean snorted. "That look hasn't worked on me in years, Sam."

Liar. Sam had calculated it. That look worked on Dean approximately forty percent of the time. Apparently not today though.

His brother accelerated the car. "Why don't you save the good stuff for those old biddies you love so much."

Sam huffed. "You're being ridiculous…"

"You know what, Francis? You can just sit there and be quiet. You're the whole reason we're doing this."

"Me?" Sam shook his head. "I don't even know where we're going. And what the hell does any of this have to do with me? I don't know what this is."

Dean shot a disbelieving glare Sam's way. "Alright. I was perfectly happy with my week of being an adorable runt. But then as soon as I'm back to normal it's all 'Dean we need to talk about hell.' Or 'Dean, you should keep a journal describing your nightmares'." Dean paused, shaking his head. "Or, oh yeah, and this is my favorite, 'Dean, we can share a bed if you're scared'."

Sam rubbed his temple with his fist. "Look, you jerk, I'm being supportive." Geezus, Dean was annoying. "And I don't plan on stopping…" Sam blinked in confusion. "What does any of that have to do with us barreling down the road in the middle of the night?"

Dean just laughed. Or cackled. It was more of a cackle, Sam decided. His older brother had finally lost it.

Sam sighed. "Fine. Just wake me up when we get to the place…" Sam paused, let Dean hear the disdain in his voice. "Where you're going to do whatever stupid thing you're going to do." He turned towards the window. "That way, I can hopefully stop you." Sam closed his eyes and went to sleep.

He awoke to the soft smells of early morning. The car was stopped on a dirt road in the middle of a tall pine grove. The morning light tickled his skin as he stumbled out of the passenger's side door. Sam rubbed his eyes. The scene was vaguely familiar. He yawned, looking around. Racket from behind the car caught his attention. The trunk was open and Dean was rummaging.

"Dean…" Sam said coming to stand next to his brother. Dean had a large set of explosives in his hand. "Dean…what the…what are you doing?"

Dean grinned. "I'm blowing the bitch up." He patted Sam on the shoulder happily and held up a piece of dynamite. "Oh yeah. It's go time, little brother." He turned and started walking.

"What?" Sam watched him stomp down the dirt road. "Dude…its way too early for this." Sam rubbed his eyes again.

"C'mon, Sam." Dean yelled from a quarter mile down the road. "Hurry up. You're going to miss the show."

His sleepy mind began to process the scene. He knew this road. Suddenly, Sam was awake and jogging after his brother. Dean wouldn't…would he? He saw his brother turn off the road, humming as he moved out of sight. Sam cursed. The spring that had changed Dean into a ten year old for a week was down that path.

"DEAN." He yelled.

Sam increased his pace, sprinting off the road and down the path. He ran a short distance, dodging roots and branches, until the small spring came into sight. The brownish water was clear and innocuous looking. His brother was about four feet away from the bank, holding a massive amount of dynamite.

Sam stopped, eyes growing big. "Dean, this is a very bad idea."

"No, Sam." Dean looked back at him, face aglow in the morning sun. "This is a brilliant idea. We blow the spring, no one else gets shrunk."

Sam puffed out a breath of annoyed air. "No, just stop and think about this. Of all the dumb and foolhardy ideas you've ever had – this is by far the dumbest."

Dean's face twisted into offense. "My dumb and foolhardy ideas have saved our asses more time than I can count."

"Fine. Fine." Sam said. "You're right. But this plan, right here, right now. It's stupid."

Dean frowned. "You're stupid." He mumbled. Then he smirked. "I figure fifteen feet is a safe distance. Get back. It has about a twenty second fuse." Dean pulled his arm back.

"Dean, don't you dare…" Sam started.

His brother grinned wider; then threw the dynamite in the middle of the spring. Sam moved back a few feet and Dean immediately jogged over beside him. They waited. Nothing happened.

Sam cocked his head and looked at the water. "Did you set the fuse right?" Sam asked.

"I think I know how to handle dynamite, Sam." Dean said. "Give it another minute." They waited. Nothing happened.

"Dammit." Dean stomped to the bank and peered towards the middle. "I see it. The stuff's just sitting on the bottom."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked over to him. "Great. We can't get the explosives back out of there without…"

And that's of course when the dynamite exploded. Sam saw Dean's eyes get big. Next thing he knew a wall of water rushed him. It slapped his skin and the force of the blast knocked him on his ass.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." Dean's mumbled cursing sounded high pitched beside him.

Sam placed his hand in the sandy bank. He looked over. There was a muddy hole where the cursed spring had been moments earlier. He let his fingers, which were small and thin, sink into the grains, before glaring over at his brother.

Dean was sprawled beside him on the sand. His eyes were still big but his face was small and smooth. He was a damn ten year old again.

"Oops." He said in a guilty voice.

Sam had a rant ready. It started with 'I told you so' and ended somewhere around 'What the hell were you thinking'. But that wasn't what came out when he opened his mouth.

"I'm telling." Sam said instead. He crossed his arms and frowned.

Dean bristled. "Oh yeah? Who you going to tell? No one's here. And besides I don't care what anyone thinks." Dean flung sand at him.

Sam smirked. "We'll see…" He searched through his wet, huge jacket and pulled out his cell phone.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

Sam turned away from him. He pushed speed dial two and hit send.

"Sam?" Dean moved closer to him and peered over his shoulder. "You wouldn't."

Bobby answered on the second ring. Sam put him on speaker phone and watched his brother squirm.

"Sam. How you boys doing?" Bobby's voice filled the outdoor space.

"Dean got us turned into kids, Bobby. He blew up the stupid cursed spring with dynamite." The words rushed out. "And now…

"Look." Dean cut in. "It was a good idea, Bobby. Something went wrong with the fuse. Sam's just bitchy because I'm taller than him now."

"Yeah, whatever, enjoy your half an inch for the week." Sam said. Dean flung more sand at him. "Stop it, Dean." Dean did it again. "I mean it, stop it."

"BOYS." Bobby's voice rang from the phone and echoed through the trees. Sam could practically hear the puzzle pieces coming together in the older man's head. "Boys…" He said again, sounding calmer and less gruff. "Stop. Now, Sam, you tell me exactly what happened."

Sam told Bobby the details. And even though Dean was a stupid jerk, he was kinda relieved that Bobby didn't seem too mad at either of them. He just made them promise to put on dry clothes, lock themselves in the car, and not drive anywhere until he picked them up in eight hours.

"You shouldn't have told him." Dean looked embarrassed beside him in the backseat of the car. "He's going to think we're idiots."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe you…But I guess you did destroy the spring, so that's something good." Sam offered with a smile. He peered out the window. The woods felt more threatening than they had before. Sam shuffled closer to his brother. "I wish he'd hurry up. It's creepy out there."

Dean sighed.

**

Seven hours later, Bobby showed up in a beat up Camero. Sam did the math in his head. The older man must have out sped Dean to make it in that sort of record time. They jumped out of their car to meet him. Bobby grumbled and fussed at them as he lumbered out of the car.

"Sam. Dean." Bobby said, shaking his head and staring at each of them in turn. "It's still the darnedest thing…"

Dean twisted his loosely hanging watch around on his wrist and checked the time. "Wow." He said, sounding impressed. "You must have driven like 92 mph to make it here this fast."

Sam blinked at him. Huh. Apparently his brother could do the math, too. Bobby checked them both twice for injuries before ushering them towards his car.

"Get in." His voice was low and gravely.

They both grabbed for the handle to the front seat. Bobby watched them, a frown deepening on his face. Dean pushed Sam. Sam pushed back. After a minute, each had one hand on the handle and one hand pushing the other's face away from the car.

"Just get in the back, Sam." Dean shouted.

"No. You did this." Sam slapped at his face. "You ride in the back."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean thumped his nose, hard. "I'm older. I get the front."

"No." Sam pinched him and smiled as he yelped. "We're both the same age now. And it's all your fault." Sam turned to Bobby. "Tell him to get in the back, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head and wiped his brow. "In the back seat. Both of you knuckleheads."

"But…" Sam started.

"NOW." Bobby barked.

Sam huffed and stepped back. His brother crossed his arms and moved away. They crawled into the back. Dean kicked him.

'Jerk,' Sam mouthed, punching him the arm.

"…be the death of me yet…" Bobby mumbled, sliding in the front seat. He eyed them in the rearview. "You two alright back there."

Sam nodded. Bobby started the engine.

"No one hears any whispering or anything?"

"No. It's all good. Only thing I hear is Sam's whining bitch voice."

Sam shoved him.

Dean waved him off and tapped on Bobby's shoulder. "Bobby." He said. "What about my car? We can't leave her out here."

"I'll send someone to take care of her." Bobby's eyes caught Dean's panicked ones in the rearview. Sam felt his brother tense up. Bobby groaned. "Don't start with me, boy. I'll make sure it's someone we can trust. Don't worry. She'll get back to you safe and sound."

Dean deflated and sank back into the seat.

"Yes sir." Dean said.

Bobby pulled the car out on the highway. "Now, what the hell am I supposed to do with the two of you for a week?"

Ideas about doing research on the seals flashed into Sam's mind. But apparently being de-aged crosses a few wires because that wasn't what he suggested.

"I told Dean if this happened again we'd go to Disney World." Sam said. Then he frowned in confusion. He'd meant to say they'd do some homework on the apocalypse, right? Sam shook his head, letting his thoughts bounce around.

"I don't want to go to Disney World." Dean's words were quick and his face twisted into a pout. He poked Sam. "You're the one who wants to go to Disney World." He caught the reflection of Bobby's eyes. "Sam wants to be a fairy tale princess for a day."

Sam smacked him. "I do not."

"You're still the one who wants to go." He said.

"I want to go?"

"Yeah, I think you do."

Sam considered it. "Okay. Maybe I do. But so do you...you just don't know it."

Dean was opening his mouth to retaliate when Bobby cursed and pulled the car to the side of the road. A Toyota passed on the other side. Sam wondered if they were in trouble. Visions of their father pulling off an endless number of roads floated into his skull. Dean must have been thinking similar thoughts because he stayed still and silent beside him. Sam gulped.

"Uh…Bobby?" Sam asked. "What are we doing?"

"I'm turning around, Sam." He swung the Camero around so they were driving in the opposite direction.

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean threw up his palms and shook his head. He mouthed, 'How should I know' and made a gesture suggesting Bobby was looney tunes.

After about five minutes, Dean cleared his throat. "Bobby, man…where are we going?"

"Well, I guess we're going to Orlando, you damn idjits." He held up his hand. "I don't wanna hear another word about it. Damn kids…" He muttered.

Sam couldn't help it. He felt the smile pull across his face. Dean's face was contorted in disbelief, but he grinned when he caught Sam's expression.

Sam's smile faltered. "We can go to Epcot, too? Right, Bobby."

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered something about nerdy, little brothers. He looked happy, though, so Sam ignored him and concentrated on Bobby.

The older man chuckled. "Sure thing, Sam. Whatever you boys want."


End file.
